My Home, My Prison Cell
by LiBonzo
Summary: Hazelle Hawthorne becomes housekeeper to the broken victor, Haymitch Abernathy. As she sorts through his trash and throws away the broken bottles, she begins to uncover bits and pieces about his life before and after the Second Quarter Quell.
1. Chapter 1

It was an offer she couldn't afford to refuse, though it was hardly a glamorous proposition. It seemed like desperation had been the status quo for years after the mine explosion, but lately even that desperation had sunk lower to the depth of total despair. Hazelle felt her heart break when her Gale began working in the mines, again when her second-oldest, Rory, took out tesserae to stave off the shortage of food in the household. With her own meager laundry business all but flat-lining, she knew she had to do something to survive.

She sighed and knocked twice on the chipping paint of the front door. With a mop bucket in one hand and her broom leaning up against the side of the house, she waited for an answer. She switched the bucket from one hand to the other and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before peering inside the shrouded house through the window.

_He can't still be asleep, it's after 2._ Hazelle scowled and finally turned the handle. It only stuck for a moment before allowing her access to the expansive interior of the home.

The house was dark and the overwhelming, sour stench of alcohol and bile caused her eyes to tear slightly. She took to breathing through her mouth, though it didn't do much to alleviate the feeling that she might vomit at any moment.  
><em>The sooner I get started, the sooner I get out.<em> She thought and crossed the living room, pushing aside discarded papers and garbage with her foot all the while. Immediately she opened the blinds and un-latched the windows. The cool, sweet air from outside felt invigorating as it slowly but surely took the stuffiness from the house with every breeze.

The mess was worse without darkness to conceal it. She began at one end of the room and threw out anything and everything that littered the floor. Broken bottles, torn newspapers, bits and pieces of mail from years ago were strewn around the room. Mold was making its refuge on several chipped dishes that ended up underneath most of the rubble of Haymitch Abernathy's life.

Further and further she dug into the pile until she found the floor. The moment of triumph was quickly cut short when she sliced her finger on a bit of broken glass. A small hiss escaped her lips as she pulled her hand back and clenched it tightly into a fist to stem the bleeding. Gently, with her uninjured hand, she swept aside the trash and found a broken picture frame. She picked it up and tapped it against the floor to shake loose the remaining shards. It was the first picture she had seen in Haymitch s house and her curiosity got the best of her as she began to inspect it more closely.

Judging by the quality, it must have been taken by a professional, a closer look at the overall neatness of those pictured, it must have been a Capitol professional along with a team of stylists. Hazelle realized it must have been taken shortly after the Quarter Quell. The young man pictured most prominently in the center wore a beaming grin, despite the radiance and life in his eyes, Hazelle could clearly recognize him. Haymitch had his arms around a girl who was obviously from the Seam. Her dark hair hung in loose, soft curls down her back and she smiled sweetly with her head leaning against his shoulder. The look on her face was elation, even a little exasperation. The glossiness in her eyes suggested that she might have been crying recently. She held onto him in such a way that suggested she would never let him go again. Unfortunately for her, and him as well, that wouldn't be the case.

Hazelle bit her lip and rubbed her thumb over the photograph. The fanfare and banners visible in the background of the picture revealed that it was taken during the celebration in District 12 upon the victor s triumphant return. As she recalled, however, there was little to no real pride exhibited upon his arrival home. There was only a dark state of shock masked by the bizarre celebration perpetrated by the Capitol. They had all watched as he fought to the edge of his life, and then managed to win by sheer luck. It didn't seem fair when three of their other District 12 children were slaughtered for no reason.

The first few days after he returned home were full of media, the Capitol had sent out a great number of reconstructive artists to build up facades to cover the more dilapidated areas of the district for the cameras. In all interviews, the reporters never mentioned anything about the peculiar way that Haymitch managed to use the arena s defenses to his own advantage. It was an unprecedented event, and no one knew quite how to approach it. Once the Capitol crews left the lowly district, Haymitch and his family moved into the Victor s Village. Two weeks later he was living there alone at the ripe old age of 16.

The sound of footsteps from above gave Hazelle a fright and the picture slipped from her hands, this time the frame cracked in two and joined the shards of broken glass on the floor. She placed the picture in her apron pocket and scooped the remaining glass into the trash bag. A surge of anxiety overcame her when she heard him descending the stairs. She quickly turned to face him with a nervous smile.

To say he was a wreck would be to put it lightly. His clothes looked like they hadn t been washed, possibly ever. His hair was a disheveled mess and the darkness that surrounded his bloodshot eyes was testament to the amount of ingested poison circulating in his blood.  
>"What're you doing here?" he asked. It was at that moment that she noticed the rusted hunting knife still clutched in his hand.<p>

"It's me, Hazelle Hawthorne. Katniss told you I d be around to, uh...help you tidy up. She told me you agreed to hire me." There was hesitation in her already timid voice. Her eyes alternated between the glint of gray in his eyes and the glint of metal in his hand. They seemed equally threatening at that point.

He narrowed his eyes and then nodded toward her. What s that? The edge of the photo was sticking out of her pocket and she fidgeted it out and held it towards him.

"I found it on the floor, the frame broke but it really is a lovely picture. I could put it up if you-"

"No! He shouted and gripped the handle of the knife tighter. I didn't know it was still around, thought I got rid of it."

Hazelle pulled back the photo and held it against her chest. Her eyes were wide and she made a quick mental assessment of her proximity to the front door. I m sorry! I didn t know, I ll just leave it.

Haymitch sighed and relaxed the grip of his fingers. "Just get on out of here, alright?"

"Well you did hire me to do a job, I could get started upstairs if you don't want me in your way." Her voice was edging on desperation. She needed the money, it frustrated her to no end that Haymitch would think she was cleaning for him just to entertain herself.

Without a word, he crossed the room and wrenched open the drawer of an end table. He grabbed a handful of coins and then kicked open up the front door. Get! He shouted and tossed the money out on the porch. Humiliated, Hazelle picked up her supplies and silently left the house in a hurry. The door slammed behind her as she knelt down to scoop up the scattered coins and stow them away in her pocket. She felt lowly and dirty, like a desperate beggar.

As much as she wanted to hate him for the way he was, she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but pity for him. He kept to himself, imprisoned by his misery. He must have been beyond the point of inebriation when he agreed to hire her. With what little dignity she could muster up, she began the walk back home.


	2. Chapter 2

"I told you it wouldn't be an easy job."

"I know, I guess I didn't expect it to end like that." Hazelle said, stirring a little cream into her morning tea. Cream was a rare commodity in District 12, but it was something she was able to afford with the money Haymitch had carelessly thrown at her.

Katniss nodded, an exasperated look on her face. She looked well beyond her seventeen years, the plight she had been through had aged her considerably. "I talked to him after you told me what happened. He agreed to let you come back."

Hazelle looked up, a quizzical look on her face. As much as she didn't want to go back there, she knew it was the only way she could earn a living and support her family. "And he won't chase me out like a stray?"

Katniss nodded, "I promise he won't."

She decided to make it an early evening trip as to avoid any confusion upon the drunken slob's first awakening. The walk to Victor's Village seemed a shorter distance than she would have preferred and as she dragged her supplies up to the front door, she caught sight of a bit of movement inside. She sighed and knocked loudly as to attract his attention. There was no telling what sort of state he would be in.

After a few seconds, the door slowly opened inwardly and Haymitch stepped aside to let her pass. He didn't say anything, though the absence of a threat was certainly an improvement from their last meeting. She stepped inside and saw the living room was exactly as she had left it the previous day. That is, except for the photograph which was missing completely from where she had dropped it.

"I'm sorry about yesterday, I wasn't...feeling well, and-"

"It's fine." She replied in a tone that assured him that it was anything but fine. Hazelle gingerly put her supplies in a corner as she continued to rummage through the pile of trash that made up the majority of Haymitch's home. He didn't say anything, it seemed like he wanted to but couldn't figure out how to make words. Rather, he stood off to the side and sort of awkwardly watched as she went through his belongings.

Hazelle wished that he would leave, go upstairs or go outside. Anything, anywhere, she didn't care at this point. The fact of the matter was that she didn't want him watching her. Not only did it make it more difficult to work, she couldn't stand the sight of him. The photograph from the previous day was testament to the vibrant young man he was before he let alcohol ruin him.

It was an hour and a half and three trash bags later that Hazelle stopped and picked up a very feminine comb that was poking out from underneath the end table. It was a powder blue color, with soft engravings of flowers all along the handle. The state of the teeth suggested that it was old, maybe even an antique. She held it gingerly in her hand, unsure of whether or not she should throw it away. It had a weight to it, there was something about it that made her feel like it was important.

"Haymitch?" She called in a soft voice and turned around. He had left her to her work nearly an hour ago, though she wasn't sure where he had wandered off to. She stood up from the disappearing pile of litter and walked with anxious steps toward the kitchen. Sure enough, she found him staring intently at the half-empty bottle across the table from him. The glassiness of his eyes suggested that the bottle had been full when he first sat down.

"Haymitch, I found something. I'm not sure if you want to keep it or not." Hazelle's words were steady, a calm and motherly patience surrounded them as she spoke. She turned the comb over in her hands and held it out toward him.

He raised his eyes and stared at the comb in her outstretched hand. For a moment, Hazelle was sure he was about to cut their visit short with another outburst, but instead he almost smiled. There was a twitch in the corner of his mouth, that is.

"Y'know, that was my mother's. It's really all I got left of her."

Hazelle felt her heart sink in her chest. She placed the comb on the table in front of her and sat down next to him. There was a sadness in his eyes, an emptiness that suggested he hadn't thought about his mother in any capacity for a long time.

"They killed her, you know. It wasn't an accident. Nothing that happened to me was an accident." He continued, his eyes were downcast and his finger methodically traced a circle around a knothole in the surface of the table. "They'll tell you it was, but I know the truth. They were punishing me, making me the example of what happens when you don't play by the rules...do you believe me?"

He finally raised his gaze to meet hers and she didn't look away. "I was young when you won the Quell, but I remember a Peacekeeper talking in the Hob about how you outsmarted the Gamemakers. Haymitch, he disappeared too. After that, no one talked."

He nodded slowly, "They killed 'em all, made sure I knew it was my fault too." He shuddered slightly and reached across the table, taking the bottle by the neck. He tipped it back for a moment and continued to recount the incident that left him so broken. "I was out by myself, I don't even remember why. Taking a walk or something. Do you remember all the streamers and banners they left here after their celebration? All silver and gold, hanging off the buildings in shreds by that time."

The gaudy imagery surfaced in her mind as she listened intently to his words. The curiosity of her 10-year-old self reemerged as another view to the events that had occurred began to weave into her own memories and fill in the blanks. "They were ugly, I remember hating that they left it all here for us to look at."

Haymitch continued, the circles he had been tracing had evolved into rapid figure eights. "When I got back to the Village, it was so quiet. It was always quiet, but there weren't even any footsteps. No water running or talking at all. I didn't know what to think, I wasn't wise enough to be afraid." His hand stopped tracing completely and clenched into a fist. "Then I went inside and saw the blood. There wasn't a lot, only enough to let me know what happened. They did it on purpose. Cut one of 'em bad enough to leave me a message, and then drag them away to finish the job."

"Haymitch..." Hazelle said softly and covered her mouth with one hand, "I had no idea-"

"That wasn't all, he left a rose! That bastard left me a white rose, right on the table over there. I knew it was him, he wanted me to know that he had the power to do anything he wanted. He left that rose to remind me it was my fault." He shut his eyes for a moment, his hands moved to his temples as if he could block out the grating memories. "I killed them, if I just died in that arena like I was supposed to, then none of this would've happened."

Hazelle bit her lip, unsure of what to say to him at this point. She cleared her throat and managed, "It wasn't your fault."

He didn't reply, rather he picked up the comb from the table and felt along the ribbed edge of broken and worn down teeth. "I'm just, I wanna keep this one. I'll take it up with me." He stood up and held onto the back of the chair for temporary support. Stowing the comb away in his back pocket, he pulled a small bag of coins from the inner-lining of his jacket and placed it down on the kitchen table.

"For when you're finished down here. Don't stay late if you can't, we always have tomorrow." With that, he made his way upstairs and shut his door behind him. Hazelle wiped her eyes, scooped up the money and finished dusting and organizing the living room. He was right, the rest of the house could wait until tomorrow.


End file.
